7 Years After
by musicprincess1990
Summary: Harry and his friends have overcome the war, and are now embarking on what might be the most frightening adventure of all: moving on. Sequel to "7 Years," begins just after the last chapter, no epilogue. H/Hr mainly, with some H/G and R/Hr.


A/N: Hey, everybody! So, this is happening. I didn't think I'd do a sequel, since the movies wrap everything up so nicely (with the exception of NOT HARMONY), but I've decided to add my own ending. The epilogue is nonexistent, and we're within the world of the movies, starting just after the war. It's all in Harry's POV again, to keep with the format of _7 Years_. The chapters are _very_ long, but something tells me y'all won't mind that so much. ;) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own my keyboard, but that's about it.

* * *

After four months of reconstruction, Hogwarts Castle had at last been restored to all its former glory. The teachers would move back in by Friday, and in one week, on the first of September, the new term was due to begin. The wizarding world was slowly, but surely, getting back on its feet after the horrific events of the recent war.

I sighed as I read the letter in my hand. It hadn't come as a surprise, really, that Professor McGonagall wanted the three of us to return for our seventh year. But that didn't make it any easier to say no.

I'd seriously considered it, I really had. I still loved Hogwarts, and the memories I'd made there would always be among the happiest in my life. Even so, I didn't think it would ever be the same, after everything that had happened. The ghosts of the not-too-distant past still haunted me. My nightmares had decreased in frequency, but I still had them every so often, and I couldn't even look at the Astronomy tower now without thinking of the night Dumbledore was murdered. For every good memory I had of the castle, there was at least one bad one to go with it.

Ron's refusal was far less complicated than my own. He hated school, and had no desire to go back. He and I would be starting Auror training in a few weeks, and we hoped to be working by next summer.

Hermione, of course, would be going back to school for her last year. We'd expected as much, but I think Ron had hoped she would change her mind. I knew better than to think Hermione would intentionally miss out on the chance to learn and study, now that her life wasn't constantly in danger. But what _had_ come as a surprise to me was that she and Ron had called off their relationship, after only a few months.

"I have no interest in long-distance," she'd explained when I asked her why. "It's not that I don't care about Ron. I just want to concentrate on my schoolwork. You know me," she'd added with a shrug.

"Yes, I do," I agreed with a laugh. "I guess that makes sense."

I hadn't touched the subject since then. Honestly, Ron and Hermione's relationship was still somewhat of a sore point for me. Despite my efforts to convince myself that she was happier with Ron, my feelings for Hermione had yet to fade. I couldn't bring myself to tell either of them, for fear of making things worse. The memory of what Ron and I had seen when we opened that locket was all too fresh. My skin tingled as I recalled the image of myself and Hermione, locked in a passionate embrace. _No_, I scolded myself. _Don't think of that. She loves Ron. It's as simple as that_.

"Harry?"

I looked up to see Ginny poking her head in the doorway. Hermione and I had been staying at the Burrow over the summer, until three days ago, when she left for Australia to find her parents. Ron went with her, of course. I chose to stay behind; I still didn't trust myself not to ruin everything.

Forcing myself back to the present, I focused on Ginny. She really was beautiful. I'd never been able to deny that fact, but lately I'd been feeling... different. The idea had crossed my mind once that she was using a love potion on me, but now I didn't think she had. She hadn't really had the opportunity to administer a potion while I was out camping all those months. Apart from an impetuous shared kiss amidst the commotion of the war, she hadn't been pushing herself on me. And besides, Ginny was almost as dreadful at potions as myself. It was just the war, I decided. The war had messed with my brain. Now, I just had to figure out if I liked Ginny enough to date her. Not exactly easy, when you're battling feelings for someone else.

"Hi, Ginny," I said, pulling myself out of my thoughts.

"Mum says breakfast is just about ready. You coming down?"

"Yeah, be right there."

Without another word, she left the room, and I followed her down the many winding staircases into the kitchen. Molly smiled at me, piling food onto my plate. Arthur sat at the end of the table, browsing the _Daily Prophet_ for the headlines. On the front page, I saw a picture of Hogwarts, in front of which stood Professor McGonagall, shaking hands with Kingsley Shackelbolt, recently appointed Minister of Magic. He was doing wonders with the government, implementing all sorts of new traditions and customs. The idea of blood supremacy was becoming a thing of the past, and the werewolves had been granted the rights they deserved. Hermione, especially, was glad of that, though I knew she wouldn't be satisfied until _every_ creature had all the rights of a witch or wizard. I thought only of Remus, and my heart broke a little more to know that he would never reap the benefits of such a change.

I stopped these thoughts in their tracks before the tears could come, and cleared my throat. "So, what's on the agenda today?" I asked the Weasleys awkwardly.

"Well, Ginny's got some shopping to do for her last year of school," Molly pointed out with a hint of motherly pride. "Would you like to join us, dear?"

"Sure," I nodded. "I'd like to see Diagon Alley, now that they've reopened some of the shops." I caught Ginny's eye, and she smiled warmly, clearly pleased that I was joining them. My stomach did a strange little flip at her smile, and I felt one creeping across my own face. Perhaps, today, I would finally have a pleasant day.

* * *

Diagon Alley was still far emptier than I was used to, but it had come a long way since the last time I was there. Almost all the shops had been rebuilt, refurbished, and reopened, and, as far as I could see, they were thriving. The one place that remained closed was Ollivander's, as the beloved wand maker was still recovering from his ordeal with Voldemort. I couldn't help but wonder where the new students would be getting their wands, if they couldn't go to Ollivander's.

"The Ministry's got a temporary shop set up somewhere," Ginny said, answering my unasked question. "I'm not sure where it is, but Dad says they've kept in contact with Ollivander, and he helps them with the wands."

"Makes sense."

"You're sure you won't come back?" she asked, her voice bordering on pleading. "I hear they've reopened all the old secret passages to Hogsmeade."

I grinned. "It's tempting, really. But no."

"Why not?"

Sighing, I slowed my pace, distancing us from Molly and Arthur, who didn't seem to notice, or care. "Hogwarts is great, but I'm not sure I can go back there with so many bad memories. I just don't think it would be the same."

"I get that," she said, "but... what about me?"

My stomach flipped again, and I stopped, taking a few breaths. She caught on a few steps ahead, then turned around to face me. "Ginny," I began, "I'm sorry. I just... I think I need more time to think about that."

She sighed in obvious disappointment. "How much more?"

"I don't know."

"You've been saying that since the war ended, Harry. I won't wait forever."

"And I don't expect you to," I insisted. "I just... look, I'll let you know when I'm ready, okay? I promise. Or, if it comes to it, I'll let you know if I decide it's not meant to be. Fair?"

"Fair," she sighed again, and we continued our walk.

"Harry! Ginny!"

I froze; I'd know that voice anywhere. Swallowing hard, I turned around to see Hermione running to catch up with us, her bushy hair swaying behind her. Her cheeks were flushed, and a smile lit up her features.

"Hello, Hermione," Ginny greeted. "Getting your schoolbooks, too?"

"Actually, I bought mine earlier this morning," she corrected. "But I can't find my old robes, so I'm headed to Madame Malkin's to get a new set."

Ginny groaned. "God, I wish I had that luxury. Mum still insists on making me wear a bunch of old hand-me-downs."

"I'll buy them."

It wasn't until both girls turned to me with openly shocked faces that I realized it was I who had spoken.

"Pardon me?" Hermione asked, at the same time as Ginny's sputtered, "You'll _what?_"

"Erm... I'll buy your robes, Ginny. Y-you should have new ones, and it's not like I've got my own to buy or anything, so... yeah," I finished lamely, feeling more and more ridiculous by the minute.

"That's awfully, er... _generous_ of you, Harry," Hermione said suspiciously.

"I'm a generous person."

"Hmm." She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing me carefully. I squirmed under her gaze, and fought back a sigh of relief when she finally looked away. "Shall we?"

Ginny beamed. "To Madame Malkin's!"

I blew out that relieved sigh as the two girls linked arms and walked away. This was going to be an interesting day.

* * *

"All I'm saying is," Ginny ranted, lugging half of her impressively large collection of bags out the door of Madame Malkin's, "what kind of person just suddenly bumps up the price of robes, which, as far as I can remember, have been the same price for about thirty years?"

"The kind who has only just restarted her business, and is trying not to starve," I heard Hermione mumble. I fought back a smirk.

Ginny continued on, not having heard this acerbic remark. "It just seems a tad bit presumptuous to me. Not everyone's made of money, you know!"

"I'm sure it's just temporary," I tried to placate her.

She didn't seem to have heard me, either. Her rant continued until we reached Flourish and Blott's, where her parents were waiting to meet us. It continued clear through the queue to purchase her books, during which I covertly caught Hermione's eye. She rolled her eyes heavenward, then smiled. I grinned in return, glad I wasn't the only one suffering.

The rant finally came to an end as we exited the bookshop, at which point Ginny promptly said, "I'm hungry. How about some lunch at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"I'd better get back home," Hermione declined. "Mum and Dad want to drive down to Brighton for an overnight stay, and they want to leave around half-past two. See you in school, Ginny," she added with a smile, then turned her eyes to me. I was stunned to see something akin to sadness in them. "Bye, Harry," she said, her voice barley above a whisper. And then a moment later, she was walking away.

* * *

"_Protego!_"

My recently-cast jinx came flying back towards me, and I quickly ducked out of the way. Ron grinned triumphantly, brandishing his wand.

"You're off your game today, Potter," he taunted good-naturedly.

"Maybe that _is_ my game, Weasley," I countered confidently, though I knew perfectly well that wasn't the truth. I _was_ off my game, and I knew exactly why. I couldn't get the image of Hermione's sad eyes out of my head. Why was she so upset? Had I done something to hurt her? Was it something I _hadn't_ done? And why, in the name of Merlin's beard, could I not stop fussing over it?

I tuned back into the duel just in time to see a jinx headed my way, and I cast a quick _protego_. The ball of crackling light ricocheted back in Ron's direction, and he dodged as skillfully as I had moments earlier. This pattern continued for several minutes, until James Macintosh called for us to "gather 'round." Ron and I exchanged a wry glance at our instructor's melodramatic nature. Every day, he had us "gather 'round" a small stage, on which he stood throughout the entire lesson, unless he spotted someone making a "drastic faux pas." Then, at the end of each hour, he'd talk about what he'd seen, and give tips on how to improve. Though his methods were somewhat laughable, I had to admit they worked.

"Great work today, everyone," he drawled in his thick Scottish brogue. "I like what I'm seeing. Lots of improvement, especially where dodging's concerned. However, there's always room for even _more_ improvement. Always be alert; you never know what your opponent is going to cast your way, or when. Keep your eye on them at all times, and be ready to move, or retaliate, if need be." He clapped his hands together. "All right! See you all tomorrow!"

Ron and I ambled toward the lockers with the rest of the male trainees. Some of my tension eased under the hot water, so I stayed in the shower a bit longer than was strictly necessary. By the time I finished, everyone except Ron had left. He sat on a bench, a serious expression on his face.

"You _were_ off your game today," he pointed out. "Everything all right?"

I hesitated; there was only so much I could tell Ron, and my feelings for Hermione were most definitely _not_ on that list. So, I settled on telling him the second, and far less worrisome, of the issues currently on my mind.

"Ginny brought up _us_ again."

Ron tensed. "And?"

"And I told her I'm not ready." His posture didn't ease, and I sighed. "Come on, Ron," I mumbled, discarding my towel and donning my street clothes. "It's been hell since the war ended. I don't want to rush into anything."

"Four months later, and you're still worried about rushing?"

"Yeah."

Ron expelled a breath, shaking his head. "Look, mate, I'm not saying you should up and marry her tomorrow. All I'm saying is, she's been waiting on you for years."

"I know," I sighed again.

"And now you're making her wait _even longer_. I guess, the bottom line here is, do you _want _to be with Ginny?"

I closed my locker, and stared pointedly at the door. "I don't know."

"Well, you might want to figure that out. She won't wait forever."

"I know, Ron. She said as much."

"Okay, then."

I turned around and leaned against the lockers. Ron wasn't about to let this go, not until I gave a valid reason for my hesitation. And clearly, my usual reason wasn't holding up anymore. I would have to tell him the truth. Well... the _Reader's Digest_ version of the truth, that is. "Look, Ron. I don't think it would be fair to Ginny if we started seeing each other, when I'm in love with someone else."

Ron's eyes grew wide. "What? Why didn't you say so?"

"Because she doesn't love me back."

"Who is she?"

I squirmed. "No one you'd know."

"Okay, fine, don't tell me. But I _do _think you should tell Ginny. Not the part about you loving someone else, 'cause she's not as understanding as I am." I rolled my eyes, and he punched my shoulder. "And maybe you ought to tell this mystery bird how you feel. Maybe you're wrong about her not loving you."

I nearly scoffed in disbelief, but fought back the urge. "Maybe."

* * *

September rolled by without much excitement, and as the October chill settled in, I found myself tackling the most difficult project I'd ever undertaken: renovating the interior of Grimmauld Place.

"What about this room?" Molly asked from within a small room. My stomach clenched as I approached. I didn't need to look inside to know what was there, but I did so anyway. The faded Black family tapestry still lined the walls, here and there a scorch mark where a relative's face once used to be. I eyed one black hole in particular, under which the name _Sirius_ seemed to shout at me. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat, and blinked back tears. It had been over two years since the Department of Mysteries, and I still missed him as if it had been yesterday.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see Molly smiling at me. "Perhaps we'll leave this room as is, yes?"

Smiling gratefully, I pulled my surrogate mother into a hug. "Thank you, Molly."

She patted my back, then offered another smile, before leading me into the next room. We discussed each room in the house—what they would be used for, the feel I wanted—and Molly made a list of the tools and materials I'd need, as well as a spell for each job. She also noted the times that Bill, George, and Arthur would be free to help me with the renovations.

Over the next several weeks, the Weasleys and I spent hours nearly every day, taking down old wallpapers, eliminating the ancient furniture, pulling up rotted floorboards, repainting, refinishing, and resurfacing nearly every inch of the place. We even managed to find a spell to remove that blasted portrait of Walburga, much to the dismay of Kreacher (though he was slightly appeased when I told him he could keep it as part of his collection of old household items).

By November, the house looked completely different. The rooms were infinitely brighter, and far more inviting. It was actually starting to feel like a home.

With these new, happier surroundings, I found a sudden clarity of mind. I was _not_ in love with Ginny. I liked her a lot, but as I walked through Grimmauld Place, I really couldn't picture her ever wanting to stay here. And despite the painful memories that still lingered, I couldn't see myself living anywhere else. And, if I were to be wholly honest, I couldn't see myself with any_one_, but Hermione. I could picture her in the office, poring over legal documents, making Floo calls to the Ministry, or writing a book. I could easily imagine her fussing over Kreacher in the kitchen, begging to help him with the cooking. I could see her lounging in the sitting room, curled up on the sofa with a book on her lap. There was no one else. There never had been.

So, with a newfound determination, I sat at my desk in the office, pulled out a small bit of parchment, grabbed a quill and some ink, and started writing.

_Dear Ginny,_

_I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write. I've had a lot to think about, and very little time to think. We've only just finished with Grimmauld Place. It looks pretty good. Anyway, I did promise to let you know when I was ready, or if I didn't think I would be ready at all. I'm sorry, Ginny. You're amazing, you really are. But I'm not sure it would work between us. I really am sorry for leading you on. I swear, I didn't mean to. You'll find someone wonderful, I promise._

_Sorry again,_

_Harry_

* * *

"Hey, mate, don't fuss over it," Ron reassured me. It was Christmas Eve, and Ginny had been _civil_ to me all evening. Not friendly, not flirtatious, not even cordial. Just _civil_. And it bothered me, perhaps more than it should. I couldn't figure out why she was still upset. It had been over a month since I'd sent her that letter. Wasn't that enough time to move on, find somebody else? Apparently not, considering the icy looks she'd been throwing me for the better part of the last three hours.

I blew out a sharp breath. "Six words, Ron. She's only said six words to me since I got here. 'Hi, Harry. Nice to see you.'"

"Well, at least she said it was nice to see you." I glared at him, but the prat just grinned. "I think that's pretty good for someone who's just been rejected."

"'_Just_ been rejected'? It's been almost two months!"

Ron sighed. "Look, Ginny's fancied you for ages. She needs time to get over it. Just imagine if that mystery bird you're in love with turned you down. Would you be back in the game two months later, or would it take you a while?"

I cringed at his analogy; little did he know that I _had_ been rejected, in a manner of speaking. Hermione had chosen Ron before I even had the chance to tell her. Even if I told her (which I still wasn't sure I wanted to), she might say no. She'd made her choice once. Who was to say she wouldn't make the same choice again?

"I s'pose you have a point," I muttered. But as I glanced Ginny's way again, I received the same cool glare. Growing weary of her surliness, I feigned a yawn. "I think I'll turn in early. Ate too much turkey."

Ron chuckled. "Gotta love Mum's cooking, eh? G'night, mate."

"Night," I mumbled in response, and ascended the stairs.

As I readied myself for bed, my thoughts were on Hermione. I'd very nearly spilled my guts out to her twice, but either Ginny or Ron was there a moment later, and the moment would vanish. Then she'd left early, to spend the rest of the evening with her family, and she wouldn't arrive at the Burrow until early afternoon. The chances that I would be able to tell her over the holiday were dwindling with my courage.

_Maybe I'll write it in a letter_, I though, but banished the idea quickly. I needed to tell her face to face. And it needed to be soon, or the already-miniscule window of opportunity would slam shut, and I'd be left to "what-if" for the rest of my life.

With that less than cheery thought, I crawled into bed, switching off the light. But, as is my luck, I couldn't sleep. Ron's unwitting comparison of Ginny's rejection and mine still weighed heavily on me. What if Hermione _did_ reject me? Would it ruin our friendship? Would she never want to speak to me again? _Don't be stupid_, I scolded myself. _Hermione's not like that_. I knew, no matter how she may feel, she would be level-headed and calm. At worst, there might be some awkwardness between us for a few weeks. Maybe a month. Or two. But with time, things would return to normal. At least, I hoped they would.

My thoughts centered around this topic, and each of the varying possibilities, until I glanced at the clock, stunned to see it was nearly one in the morning. The house had grown quiet without my even noticing, and the stream of light leaking in from below the door had disappeared, leaving nothing but black. Everyone else, it seemed, was fast asleep. I, however, didn't think I had ever been so wide awake. _Brilliant_.

With a groan, I tossed the comforter aside and donned my glasses, then headed down the stairs, intending to pour myself a glass of milk to calm my mind. And if that didn't work, I knew where Molly stashed her household charm books. Maybe there would be a spell I could use to get some sleep.

I stopped in my tracks when I entered the kitchen, though, surprised to see that it wasn't empty. Ginny was sitting at the table, looking right at me—_looking_, not _glaring_—with two mugs of steaming liquid on the table in front of her. _Two?_

"I was hoping you'd come down," she whispered. "Cocoa?"

Warily, I crossed the kitchen and sat beside her. She pushed the second mug toward me, and I realized what this was. A peace offering. I smiled at her, picked up the mug, and said a quiet, "Thank you."

Ginny grinned briefly, then her face grew serious. "I'm sorry for giving you the cold shoulder all evening. That was immature of me."

I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry for hurting you."

She gave a little shrug. "I guess I shouldn't have pushed you. I just thought... well, after the war..." She trailed off, her eyes misting, and she looked down at her mug, lost in her memories. I put a hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort, and she smiled sadly. "Anyway, it doesn't matter."

"The war changed all of us, Ginny. I don't blame you for wanting to move forward. I do, too. I just... I'm not sure if we're moving in the same direction."

"How can you say that?" she asked, suddenly desperate. I leaned back in surprise, but she pressed on. "We both want the same things. Love, family, home... why is it so difficult to believe we can pursue those dreams together?" I didn't have an answer for her. After a moment, she heaved a sigh, and turned her head. Then, dejectedly, she said, "I guess you don't want the cocoa."

Honestly, I'd forgotten all about it. "Sorry," I said lamely, and picked up the mug. I sipped tentatively, and found the temperature cooled enough to take larger gulps, and I swallowed more of it down. It had a sort of minty flavor to it. I took a few more swallows, draining the mug down to half-full. "Tastes great."

Ginny smiled, and in that moment, something changed. She looked beautiful, in the faint moonlight spilling in through the open window. Her skin seemed to glow, and her blue eyes sparkled. I found myself questioning my own resolve. Maybe I acted too quickly. Yes, I still loved Hermione, but I had virtually no chance of ever winning her heart. And I did like Ginny. Maybe it _could_ work.

"Harry?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

I felt myself blush, and I cleared my throat. "Er... well you... and I..." Her eyes were wide and questioning, and the last of my resolve crumbled. "Oh, sod it. Ginny... you're right. Why _can't_ we make it work?"

She almost smiled, but instead bit her lip nervously. "Harry, please don't play games with me now. Don't say things like that if you don't mean it."

"I _do_ mean it," I said, and surprisingly, I actually _did_.

"But... five seconds ago, you were telling me that we can't be together because we're not going in the same direction."

"Maybe it was just an excuse. Maybe it was a scapegoat, or whatever the right word is here. Maybe I've run out of reasons for us to be apart, and I made one up out of fear. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Kind of," she shrugged. "You're not that creative."

"Ha, ha," I deadpanned, then reached over and took her hand. It was warm, and a little bit shaky. "Maybe... maybe it's wrong of me to just assume that we wouldn't work together. We've never actually _been_ together. The closest we got was that kiss during the war."

Ginny blushed and ducked her head bashfully. "I thought you'd forgotten."

"Never. It was a great kiss."

She smiled timidly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "So what I'm saying here is... we'll never know until we try."

"I agree."

"So... will you try with me?"

She hesitated, chewing thoughtfully on her lip, then she grinned, and leaned toward me. Before I knew it, her lips brushed mine in a tender kiss. I caught her face in my hands and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. It wasn't earth-shattering, but it was warm and inviting, and I found myself thoroughly enjoying it.

After a few minutes of soft kisses, I recalled something. Pulling away, I asked, "How is this going to work, though? You're going back to Hogwarts in a few days."

"It's called 'long-distance,' Harry," she said teasingly. "Ever heard of it?"

As a matter of fact, I had. Hermione had rejected the idea of having a long-distance relationship with Ron. _No, don't think of Hermione. She may not be with Ron now, but she will be at the end of the year. She made that choice years ago_. In an effort to force my thoughts elsewhere, I began formulating some plans to make this long-distance thing work.

"I could meet you on Valentine's Day, spend the day in Hogsmeade," I suggested.

"You'll be my valentine?" she giggled.

"As long as Madame Puddifoot's isn't on the agenda, then I'd be more than happy to be your valentine, Miss Weasley," I replied with a grin.

She kissed the corner of my mouth, then whispered, "It's a date." Before I could catch her and pull her in for a real kiss, she stood and left the kitchen, winking as she disappeared up the stairs. Once she was gone, I expelled a breath, and rubbed my eyes with my forefinger and thumb. I could already tell this wasn't going to be easy. My feelings for Hermione hadn't faded in the slightest, whereas my feelings for Ginny seemed to have grown. When had _that_ happened? _They say absence makes the heart grow fonder_, I thought wryly.

Suddenly exhausted, I quickly downed the last of my cocoa, and headed up the stairs myself. My thoughts turned to Ginny, and I found myself smiling. The kiss had been just as pleasant as the ones previous. Maybe this _could_ work. Maybe I'd been too wrapped up in the possibility of Hermione to see the certainty of Ginny. Maybe Ginny was what I needed after all. Maybe... just _maybe_.

* * *

"You're what?"

Ginny grinned up at me. "We're together," she repeated, hugging me around my waist, as if to prove her point. I smiled and hugged her as well, though my insides were churning with a hundred different emotions.

Molly let out an excited shriek, then rushed forward to hug us both. Arthur shook my hand. George winked and muttered a slightly crass joke, earning him a smack from both his mother and his sister. Ron and Hermione stood there, looking puzzled. I tried to convey to Ron, at least, that we would talk later, without actually saying so. He nodded, understanding. Hermione, however, looked more and more bewildered by the second.

"When did this happen?" she asked quietly.

"Last night," I told her. Her confusion only seemed to increase. I conveyed the same wordless message to her, and she also gave a discreet nod.

The day was spent laughing, opening gifts, singing carols, and drinking eggnog. We took a few minutes to talk about the war, and about the loss of Fred. Everyone felt his absence acutely, especially George. He remained still and somber throughout the conversation, staring pointedly at his shoes. As the sun dipped below the horizon, we said our farewells, and Hermione and I left the Burrow.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked suddenly.

I sighed. "Let's go back to Grimmauld Place and talk, yeah?"

She nodded, then took my arm. I apparated us into the sitting room, since it was the most spacious. Hermione wasted no time in interrogating me.

"Why, Harry? Why didn't you tell me? And why are you with her in the first place? I thought it was over."

"I don't know why I didn't tell you," I lied easily. The truth was too complicated. "I'm with her because I like her. I thought it _was_ over, but it's not."

"Why?"

"Why are you so upset?" I countered. "Surely my _best friend_ can find it in her to be at least a little bit happy for me."

She frowned. "That's not fair, Harry. I'm just concerned."

"I'll be fine," I said firmly. "Ginny and I care about each other. Neither of us would do anything to hurt each other."

"You _think_," she added.

I leaned my head back and sighed. "Why can't you just be happy for me?"

"Because I'm worried!"

"Why?"

She faltered for a moment, then seemed to think of something to say in the nick of time. "She's still in school. Do you really think you can do long-distance?"

"I don't know, but we're going to try."

"Long-distance is difficult, Harry."

"How would you know? You've never even tried it. You were too scared!"

I realized my mistake a second later. Her face turned white, then red, and tears pooled in her eyes. "For your information, _Harry Potter_, I chose to end things with Ron because we are both in the midst of a crucial year. Between his training and my schoolwork, and being Head Girl on top of that, neither of us would have time to be in a relationship, even a long-distance one. So don't you _dare_ assume you know what I'm feeling!"

"And there it is," I muttered. _The proof that she still loves Ron_. "Well you know what, Hermione? Not everyone can live by your standards. Ginny and I are different, and we believe we _can_ make it work. Don't assume _you_ know what _I'm_ feeling!"

"Fine, I won't!"

"Fine!"

"_Fine!_"

With a soft pop, she was gone. I exhaled slowly. _That's that_, I thought. A sense of relief washed over me. I was almost certain that my feelings for Hermione had been eliminated. It was a happy thought, but was marred by the argument we'd just had. She was my best friend, after all. I didn't like fighting with my friends. Exhausted, I climbed the stairs to my room, collapsed on the bed, and fell asleep in minutes.

* * *

_Why is there so much pink?_

I couldn't remember Hogsmeade ever being this decked out for any holiday, much less the most pointless one of them all. Pink hearts were plastered on every window, door, and sign, and some even fluttered through the air like snowflakes. Fat little cherubs zoomed in and out of the shops, shooting people with their arrows—which, for the record, did _not_ incite any feelings other than annoyance. I didn't even dare look at Madame Puddifoot's, for fear of slipping into a sugar-coma.

Grumbling under my breath, I tucked the small tin of Honeyduke's chocolates into my pocket, and made my way to the Three Broomsticks. I waved a greeting to Rosmerta, who nodded in return, and headed to the corner booth, where Ginny and I had agreed to meet. But to my surprise, it wasn't Ginny who sat in the booth, a glass of butterbeer in her hand.

"_Hermione?_"

She looked up at me, and I saw a flicker of something in her eyes, before she put on a carefully composed mask. "Ginny's caught the flu. She asked me to meet you."

"Oh," I mumbled. "Well... thanks." An awkward silence settled over us, and I scuffed my foot across the floor. "I guess I'll just... go home, then," I announced lamely, and turned around to do just that.

"Harry, wait!" I stopped, against my better judgment, but kept my back turned. "Can we talk? Please?"

I swallowed thickly upon hearing her despondent tone of voice. My heart thawed, and I knew I couldn't refuse her. Despite any feelings I may have had for her, she _was_ my best friend. Slowly, I turned around, and sat beside her in the booth.

She sighed, looking down at her hands, which were fidgeting in her lap. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said, looking up at last. "I'm sorry we fought, and I'm sorry I shouted. I can't lie to you, though. I'm worried about you. Your feelings for Ginny seem to have just come from thin air. You fancied her a bit in our sixth year, but never pursued it, so I assumed your feelings weren't strong. And now, you're trying to have a long-distance relationship with her?"

"People change," I told her. "My feelings changed. I think I was just afraid that she would get hurt. We were in the middle of a war, and my own life wasn't a certainty."

"I understand," she nodded. "I just... I want to make sure that this is what you really want, Harry."

"It is," I insisted. "I'm happy, Hermione."

She smiled. "Well, then... who am I to stand in your way?"

I grinned back at her. "My best friend, who is always looking out for me, that's who."

Hermione laughed softly, and reached across the table, placing her hand over mine. My stomach flipped, and my skin tingled beneath her touch. _Oh, no_. My mouth felt suddenly dry, and I swallowed hard. I vaguely heard her say something to me, and I tried to give a smile. If she noticed my distracted state, she didn't let on. She simply patted my hand, and took a sip of butterbeer.

"I'd better get back," she announced. "Head Girl duties and such. I'm glad we talked, Harry," she added. "I don't like fighting with you."

"Me either," I managed to reply.

Leaning across the booth, she pulled me into a hug, and before I could register it, she was gone. I stared at the now vacant space, my thoughts running amok. There was one thought in particular, though, that kept repeating itself:

_I am in deep shite_.

* * *

"It is now my pleasure to introduce the person to whom we owe our livelihood, Mr. Harry Potter!"

I winced at Kingsley's introduction, and again at the thunderous applause that followed it. Ron nudged me from his seat beside me, and I reluctantly stood, making my way to the podium. The Great Hall of Hogwarts grew instantly silent, the many people inside it watching and waiting eagerly for what I had to say. I fumbled with the roll of parchment, my heart beating so fast, I was sure I would pass out. The words in front of me suddenly seemed illegible. I couldn't make sense of them. Not with this massive crowd staring at me. _Dear Merlin, help me!_

Glancing up, I caught Hermione's eye. She smiled and nodded, and I felt some of my nervousness ebbing. Taking a few steadying breaths, I began to read.

"I'm not one for making speeches. They're too much like essays, and as Hermione or Ron can tell you, I never much cared for those." A quiet chuckle resonated through the audience, and I felt my confidence go up a notch. I looked down at my speech, and suddenly, the words felt wrong. I could read them, now, but in my mind, they sounded too stiff, too rehearsed. And as I read, different words sprang into my head, and I folded up the parchment and put it back in my pocket.

"Words can only convey so much," I said, looking across the vast expanse of heads before me. "I don't think there's a word to describe the feeling you get when the Sorting Hat is placed on your head. Or the first time you see the food magically appear on the plates. Your very first broomstick ride. The shock of nearly falling off that broomstick." Another chuckle whispered through the audience. "Or... the pain you feel when you lose someone you love.

"A year ago, we lost many wonderful people. Friends, family, colleagues, teachers, students... hundreds of lives. At the time, the pain seemed unbearable. I'm sure most, if not all of you, wondered how on Earth we could ever move on. The answer is surprisingly simple: we _remember_. That doesn't mean we dwell on the past, worry over every little mistake, and wonder what we might have done to change it. The past is the past, and we _can't_ change it. But as long as we can remember the good things, the happy memories, and keep them close to our hearts, and move forward with the knowledge that our lives will be better... then those deaths will not have been in vain.

"The pain will always be there," I added, feeling my own heartache seeping in. "At times, it may threaten to overwhelm us. But we need to focus on the good, and turn our eyes and our minds toward the future. Because we _have_ a future. A bright and exciting future, and it's there within our grasp. And we owe that to the people who gave their lives. Alastor Moody. Colin Creevey. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Fred Weasley. Severus Snape. Sirius Black. Albus Dumbledore." I gulped as a lump formed in my throat, then whispered, "James and Lily Potter. These people... they are the _real _heroes."

A few beats of silence past, then the audience rose to their feet, applauding and cheering. I smiled self-consciously, and moved away from the podium. Kingsley took my hand and pulled me into a hug. "They would have been proud," he said.

The Aurors moved the chairs out of the way, leaving a massive dance floor, and the hired orchestra made their way onto the stage. Music began to play, and couples took to the floor. Ginny appeared at my side, taking my hand.

"Great speech, Harry," she smiled.

"Thanks. I'm just glad I didn't trip or anything."

She laughed. "Yes, you kept your balance very well. Let's see if that holds, shall we?" she added with a wink, and I found myself being pulled toward the dance floor. My protests fell on deaf ears, and Ginny coaxed me into a waltz. I stumbled a few times, but she just smiled and gently corrected each misstep. I was surprised to find I was having fun.

Several dances later, she claimed she had some last-minute homework to finish. I kissed her cheek and watched her leave, feeling much lighter than I had in a year.

"Care to dance, Mr. Potter?"

I whirled around, and my heart skipped a beat. Hermione grinned up at me, a vision in a sparkling red gown. "Er... yeah, sure."

The music changed to a slow, wistful tune, and Hermione guided my hands into the appropriate dancing position. I licked my lips, a thousand thoughts and feelings racing through my mind. We swayed slowly with the music, the movement more akin to a subtle rocking than an actual dance. I tried to look anywhere but at Hermione, not trusting my face to keep my feelings hidden. I had no choice, however, but to look at her, when she spoke.

"Your speech was perfect, Harry," she said. "Everyone would have been proud."

I sighed. "Guess we'll never know, will we?"

"They're proud," she insisted, then her voice grew quiet. "_I'm_ proud."

My heart swelled. "You are?"

"Of course I am. You've come a long way since you were that shy boy on the train."

"I fit into my clothes a lot better, too."

Hermione threw back her head and laughed at that, the sound ringing like music in my ears. My pulse grew more erratic, and I had to take deep breaths to calm myself down. Her eyes met mine, a happy smile still playing on her lips. _Her lips_. I had to force myself to look away from them, the temptation to kiss her far too strong.

"Do you remember the last time we danced?"

My heart stopped; of course I remembered. I gulped, keeping my eyes trained on a cellist in the orchestra. "Yeah, I do."

"That was probably the only _happy_ moment in the whole war."

"Er... yeah. Probably."

She leaned forward, resting her head against my chest. _Oh, Merlin_. "I don't know if I ever thanked you for that, Harry. It was exactly what I needed."

I couldn't respond. I was too busy trying to look indifferent, while simultaneously hoping against all hope that she couldn't hear how fast my heart was pounding. My hands turned clammy, and the only coherent thought that registered was a voice screaming, _Get out! _It took several long moments to convince myself, but finally, I was able to pull myself away.

"I-I should go," I stammered, not bothering to offer any more explanation than that, before turning on my heal and half-running away. I didn't stop until I'd reached the apparition points, and I turned on the spot, landing safely back at Grimmauld Place. My body sagged, and I collapsed in the nearest chair, overwhelmed with the torrent of emotions bombarding me all at once. I couldn't believe it. After all this time, after all the progress I thought I'd made, I was more in love with Hermione than ever.

What the hell was I going to do?

* * *

A/N: HOLY LONG CHAPTER! Oh, well. That's the price you pay when you want to do a one-year-per-chapter format. I'm sure they'll all be close to the same length, if not even longer. But like I said, I doubt you'll see that as a bad thing. So what do you think so far? Good? Bad? Boring? Exciting? Let me know!


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